A Favor
by nathan-p
Summary: Save the world, try not to die, avoid the long arms of an international corporation. All in a day's work for Roland ter Borcht. Pre-TAE. Slash. Jeb/ter Borcht.
1. Chapter 1

When the phone rang at midnight, Jeb Batchelder almost didn't notice. It rang six times before he shook off his paralysis and answered it.

There was no reason for the phone to be ringing, especially not at this hour. Most people, even here, had long since gone to bed, and there were no projects in development of a sensitive enough nature to warrant midnight phone calls.

"Hello?"

"Doctor Batchelder?" The voice on the other end of the line was made raspy by distance, but he still recognized it instantly. _Oh no. Not you._

"Yes, this is him speaking." Retorts nipped at the inside of his throat – _Is this a social call, or should I stay on the line? Calling at midnight years after you disappeared is such a wonderful way to notify me you're not dead, don't you think?_

"I need to – call in a favor."

"What kind of favor?" He expected something like _I need you to cover up a death for me _or _I need you to bail me out of prison_. Something serious. Something worth making a phone call to another country at what he had to know was midnight local time.

"Itexicon is transferring me to your location. It came up very suddenly. Would you mind giving me a ride from the airport?"

He was speechless for a moment, then managed, "I'd have thought that Director Janssen would have notified me ahead of time."

"Like I said. Very suddenly. The email should be in your inbox now. Is that a yes or a no?"

If Jeb Batchelder were a more astute man, he would have guessed that something was seriously wrong, and saved himself several months of confusion.

However, this was a man who had made his way in life by virtue of his intelligence, not his street smarts. Astuteness was not a quality he possessed.

The idea, for example, that his former colleague might be calling from a bugged phone, and thus unwilling or unable to discuss his situation in full, did not even cross his mind. The very thought that said colleague (and Jeb himself) were worthy of monitoring in such a way was, at the time, totally foreign to him.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves.

"Uh, yeah, sure," he said, glancing at his watch. "When does your flight arrive?"

"It'll be the only flight from Soesterberg arriving at the Darwin airfield today. I don't imagine you'll have much trouble locating me."

"You're flying into Darwin?" The airfield there was used only rarely, and never for international flights (well, except to Mexico or Canada). It was a decidedly odd choice of final destination.

"Yes. Is that all?"

"I guess. Thanks for the call," he said.

"Thank you for answering. I'm afraid my flight is boarding. Goodbye."

* * *

He didn't even have the courtesy to look jet-lagged. He could have been on his way to a conference with his neat grey suit and briefcase, though the duffel bag slung over one shoulder did detract from the image.

Whatever had happened in the last five years seemed to have aged him badly. When they'd first met, they had looked enough alike to be mistaken for brothers, even twins. Now there were deep crows'-feet at the corners of ter Borcht's eyes, and he looked drawn and worn.

"Hi," said Jeb. "Can I take your bag or something? I parked right up front, it's not far."

"Great," said ter Borcht, and unfiltered by the staticky phone line he sounded older as well, which was a bad observation given it had been years since they had last met. "Lead the way. I'm defecting," he added pleasantly.

"You're what?" The phrase brought images of the USSR and East Berlin. Debriefing sessions. It was a phrase that had lost currency two decades ago, a linguistic ghost.

"Defecting." His voice was cheery as he repeated himself. The sun came out from behind a cloud and he raised his free hand to shield his eyes. "Leaving Itex."

"I don't know what happened to you while you were away," Jeb ventured, "but I don't think that an airport is the best place to have this conversation." Defecting? Most people would call it _quitting a job._

"What happened to me? It's a long story," said ter Borcht. "Suffice to say I have my reasons for wanting to leave."

"I'm sure you do," Jeb said. They were still standing on the tarmac, and behind ter Borcht the pilots were filing out of the little puddle-jumper he'd taken over from DIA. The airport at Darwin got barely any traffic most weeks. It might be another hour before the next flight left. "Also, if you don't mind my asking, what _did_ happen to you?"

"I was in a mental institution for six months at the beginning," he said stiffly. "After that, well. My freedom was conditional on my employment by Itex. I am sure it wasn't entirely legal, but they seemed happy enough to have me."

"What are you doing _here_? You do know we contract for Itex."

"Of course. But you are _funded_ by the United States military." There was a little of the old sharpness in his gaze. "That is why I am here, and not Moscow or somewhere further. Also, I am in need of your medical advice."

"Medical - look, Itex employs some of the best researchers in the world, there's no reason to come suck up to me." It was like their old lab arguments all over again.

"Yes." The shield of stiff correctness had slid back over his tone. "I am in need of your discretion. And if necessary I will need you to help execute my affairs."

"Roland, _what_ –" He stopped himself, collected a better sentence. "Look. We barely know each other now. Why here? Why me? We worked together a decade ago - you must have family, other people you know better."

The corners of his lips turned up in a faint smile, and in the harsh sunlight Jeb saw the deep, bruise-like shadows under his eyes. "Please. I am very tired. Only trust me – you were my first choice in this, and I will explain further at a later time. For now, I would greatly appreciate somewhere to sleep."

* * *

note:

I should thank several people for their involvement in the many lives of this fic. I will do so briefly. Laura, for proofreading the first draft in high school art classes and pressuring me gently to try again. DZMom, for excellent critique and inspiration. Maddie, for listening to my endless ranting about story ideas.

Also, _you_, I suppose, because Christ knows I live for attention.

As far as update rate goes I can't match my high school rate of M-W-F updates, but I will try to update weekly.


	2. Chapter 2

The drive from Darwin back to the School was long even on a good day. The road was infrequently used, indifferently maintained, never clogged by traffic. On this day in particular, it was downright pleasant if monotonous in tone. Ter Borcht seemed oblivious to it all, which was odd given that during their time as labmates, he had been the one most enthusiastic about the Mojave.

One fall evening he'd dragged Jeb outside with a six-pack of beer to watch the turkey vultures swirling overhead. Their major west-coast migration pattern passed directly over the School, he had explained, as the birds rode thermals far above. For about a week every fall you could count them by their hundreds as they flooded south.

Back then when they'd had cause to make the drive to Darwin, ter Borcht spent most of it glued to the window like a child, watching the scenery pass by with single-minded observation. The desert seemed to fascinate him on some deep level. He'd grown up in Ingolstadt in Bavaria, surrounded by forest, foothills, the floodplain of the Danube. The Mojave, he had said when Jeb pressed him once about his interest, was totally unlike anything he had seen before.

Today he was slumped against the window, apparently dozing, his briefcase between his knees. He had slung his duffel bag into the back seat, protesting against Jeb's attempts to help, and silently folded himself into the passenger seat. Neither of them had ever been very talkative, but it felt as if there was some unspoken conversation they ought to be having instead of driving without speaking to each other.

It had been almost exactly five years since they'd last seen each other. Maybe a little more. It wasn't like he'd been marking off the days on a calendar or something - they had no longer been working in the same lab when ter Borcht vanished, only exchanging emails and occasional phone calls. But just before his disappearance they'd crossed paths at a conference in Washington, DC. They'd complained about work, ter Borcht had joked that the catered food was quite the step up from the cafeteria stuff, and parted ways at the end of the day. And Jeb's next email had gone unanswered.

He hadn't worried at the time. It was often the case for both of them that emails and phone messages went ignored for weeks on end, until noticed or until they could drag themselves away from a current project long enough for a proper response. He waited a month before sending the next email, joking he hoped that ter Borcht hadn't got pulled into some secret project. Waited another month for an answer that never came, and then he had called ter Borcht's superior, a woman named Janssen, to ask after him.

"He's not here anymore," she had said, and refused to give any more information. And that was that. It was as though he'd vanished off the face of the earth. For a while Jeb had thought that perhaps he didn't want to be found, that he had disappeared deliberately to start over again. He had talked occasionally about dissatisfaction with Itex, never in a way that was exactly actionable in a disciplinary fashion, but implying that he wished he had never taken their offer of a place to pursue his line of investigation into plant-cell regeneration. Jeb had agreed with him, and still did in a vague way. The opportunities that Itex had given them both were unique and valuable, but when called up before a board of directors who knew more about stock and investors and shareholders than they did biology or cytokine storms or how to keep rats, he often felt a chill down his spine, an idea that he had chosen the wrong path in life.

So Jeb had let the subject drop. Ter Borcht had been courted on and off by innumerable other companies that wanted to get their hands on his work or on him for their own projects. He had turned them down for various reasons that Jeb had long since forgotten, but he had admitted that every offer brought with it a brief wish to leave Itex. Money wouldn't have been an issue, he had said - always frugal, he had put away enough money over the years that if he wished he could retire at any time, though it wouldn't be an easy life for him, only living on savings. Being able to work fueled him. They had had colleagues for whom the job was just a job, who could leave it behind when they went home for the night.

Jeb and ter Borcht could not. This had been part of how their early friendship formed; finding themselves the only two people in the lab after dark because they wanted to be there, not because they had to be there.

Jeb smiled a little to himself as he slowed to make the turn onto the dirt road that was the back way to the School. The first time they'd met would be twenty years or so ago now, at a conference, and he had long since forgotten the exact occasion. But he remembered the first time they realized they'd been assigned to the same lab.

It had been a late night in 1993. Jeb had wandered out to the breakroom for a fifth cup of coffee, found that he had at some point consumed the cold coffee already there, and set about making a new pot. The smell of a freshly perking pot had attracted a figure who, at first sight, made him wonder if he was starting to hallucinate from sleep deprivation.

Well, until he spoke, and then it was obvious - no one else at the School had a Bavarian accent. And looked enough like Jeb to make him wonder if he needed to call things off for the night.

"I'll take a cup, if you don't mind," he had said.

Jeb had found himself without words for a moment. "Go ahead," he managed at last, having recovered some of his subroutines regarding human interaction. "How long have you been here?"

Ter Borcht gave him an odd look, and Jeb felt a moment of irritation. His lab coat looked perfectly bleached and pressed, while Jeb's was stained on one cuff with inopportune coffee spill and wrinkled from being worn all day. He'd gotten used to feeling like a country bumpkin around his European colleagues, but it was nearly ten o' clock. He shouldn't be the only one showing signs of a long day at work. "Since this morning. I held the door for you when you came in from the parking lot. You thanked me."

_Now I look like an asshole_. "I just mean it's kind of late," he said.

"I didn't really notice," ter Borcht said. "I got a little carried away in what I was doing."

"So did I," Jeb admitted. He really could have left at 5 with everyone else. All he'd been doing then was playing solitaire while he waited for the mainframe to finish processing, but after that had finished he'd persuaded himself to just work a little on the next stage of this problem and one thing had followed another. And here he was at 10 having another cup of coffee.

He was a little surprised to see ter Borcht there too, though. When you got to know a person primarily via their reputation, you tended to forget that impressive scientific accolades weren't collected by keeping banker's hours.

The coffeemaker burbled on, and Jeb found himself casting about for topics of conversation. Ter Borcht had leaned against the counter and was staring out into the black night beyond the windows. _Come on, talk to him, act normal, don't be weird..._

His inner monologue when trying to approach new people had not, in essence, changed since middle school.

In the end it was ter Borcht who broke the silence. "I read your article," he said, and added when Jeb didn't react at first, "The one about augmented regeneration in _Caenorhabditis elegans_."

_This is ridiculous, he speaks Latin_. "Oh. Thank you," he muttered, turning to the coffeemaker as its burbling ceased and gave him somewhere to direct his attention. He was certain that ter Borcht was trying to make polite conversation, and also certain that he'd brought up the article in preparation for truly tearing into it.

"I thought it was good," said ter Borcht as Jeb tipped the coffee grounds into the trash can, carefully cradling the basket over the pot to keep it from dripping on the carpet. Startled, he put his hand down on the hot plate where the coffee pot sat, then jerked it back with the speed of reflex.

"Thank you," Jeb managed.

Ter Borcht gave him a look of sympathy. "How about I pour the coffee and you run some cold water over your hand? And try not to touch hot things anymore."

Overall, it hadn't been a bad first meeting, he considered. Ter Borcht had graciously not brought up the coffeepot-burn incident afterwards, and over late-night coffee they had begun to form a friendship.

It was impossible to be certain how long ter Borcht would remain at the School this time. Jeb wasn't even certain why he was there this time. But he did hope that they could, with time, begin to re-forge the friendship they had shared.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time they made it over the last few miles of dirt track to the School, it was getting on towards evening, and Jeb had to shake ter Borcht awake when he'd found a parking place.

"You didn't say how long you expected you'd be staying, so the best I could do was get you a spare room in on-site accomodation," Jeb said as ter Borcht lifted his duffel bag from the back seat and picked up his briefcase.

"Thank you," he said, as Jeb led the way toward the low building. "I cannot be sure how long I will remain here. I'm grateful for your hospitality."

Their shoes crunched on the gravel of the path. This was the back parking lot, and it always reminded Jeb of parking at concerts and county fairs. It provided access only to the on-site accomodations, and was littered with cigarette butts, gum wrappers, and the million small indicators of human presence. This in contrast to the front parking lot and structure where visitors and those who lived off-site parked. _That_ lot was kept pristine, and while the gravel back here sometimes washed away in the rare rains, the black asphalt of the front lot was always new and smooth.

Jeb fished in his pocket and handed a key card to ter Borcht, who awkwardly stuffed it into the breast pocket of his shirt. "That'll get you anywhere you need to go. I used the most recent photo we had on file of you, from 2000. I don't think anyone will give _you_ crap for not looking like your photo."

Ter Borcht didn't laugh, and Jeb turned back to open the door into the building. A gust of cool air swept by them, and they stepped inside.

"Your place is number 112," said Jeb. "Down at the end of the hall, on the right. I, uh, made over the bed with some spare blankets. The cafeteria will start serving dinner in about two hours if you're, uh, hungry."

Ter Borcht nodded. "Yes. If you'd permit it I'd enjoy joining you at that time. In the meantime I intend to lie down and rest for a while."

"OK." _Jesus Christ I am so awkward._ "Uh, if you need anything I'm in the next building over right now. Room 224." _Why not invite him over for coffee while you're at it?_

Ter Borcht smiled tiredly. "I'll remember that. Thank you very much, Jeb."

* * *

When ter Borcht didn't appear at the time they'd agreed on, Jeb went looking for him at his rooms, the natural assumption being that he was still asleep. Which thought sparked a little amusement, given the lenghts ter Borcht had gone to earlier to appear put-together and above it all.

Even he had to sleep, it seemed.

Jeb knocked on his door. And knocked again. And listened carefully for any sound of movement within. And had just raised his hand to keep knocking when the door jerked slightly open and ter Borcht looked out at him, expression blurred by sleep and hair mussed by the pillow.

"Thank you for coming to wake me," he said. "I'm afraid I... overslept."

"That you did. Are you dressed?"

He had the luxury of a moment to regret his phrasing while ter Borcht blinked, once, at him. "Yes. Let me find my shoes."

In a moment ter Borcht stood in the hallway next to him, and he hesitated for a moment before shutting the door.

The cafeteria was in the main building, and as they walked out onto the path that led there from on-site accommodations, Jeb at once saw it all through a new perspective. The low, white concrete buildings must look terribly drab to his visitor. Ter Borcht and he, when they had shared a lab, had done so at the Institute in New York, always the lovelier complex. They had worked over the years to have improvements done at the School, but it would always look exactly like what it was: a repurposed military facility.

Then again, though he'd never visited it himself, Jeb had heard that the Itex facility at Lendeheim was beyond over-the-top; ter Borcht had sent him an awkwardly-shot picture of himself and Director Janssen in front of it just before his disappearance, and if Itex was still operating out of that Baroque monstrosity, Jeb would eat his hat.

The path was groomed gravel, neater than the parking lot though there was still little cause for the occasional official visitor to ever venture back here, even for a furtive smoke. There was a perfectly nice smoking area at the front of the building, though the staff didn't use it much. Most people preferred to light up out here, where there was a view better than "Brutalist architecture" to appreciate, and no risk of getting snuck up on by a visiting client or someone from Itex out inspecting the regional labs.

"What do you think?" said Jeb.

Ter Borcht squinted into the low sun from the west. "Well, I'm thinking of how I'll explain my presence here to your superiors. As I think you've gathered, my 'transfer' here was less than official." He paused. "Also, I like what you've done with the place. I never liked the fashion for landscaping. It makes everything look like a theme park."

_I just work here, I didn't design the grounds._ Jeb held his tongue, fumbling through errant thoughts (_if __you__ don't have an alibi, how am __I__ supposed to explain myself_?) before managing an unsteady "Thank you."

"You're welcome," ter Borcht returned smoothly. "You do still have your license, correct?" His voice purred over the Rs, and when Jeb didn't answer him, he went on. "You are still licensed to practice as a physician, yes?"

"Uh, technically, yes." _Where are you going with this_? "Are you planning something? If you're planning something, leave me out of it." He stepped up to the door, slid his key through the reader, waited for the beep, hauled it open and held it for ter Borcht. "I covered for you once, and that was enough."

"That was fifteen years ago," ter Borcht said archly. "Thank you. And I'm afraid my plans are in somewhat of a shambles, as it happens, or I wouldn't be here."

The door swung shut behind them, and they proceeded down the hall. "You'd better have something by tomorrow morning, or we're both going to be in a lot of trouble," Jeb said. "Left here."

"I'll do my best. I should still have a few friends left at Itex who owe me favors." He eyed the door to the cafeteria with great suspicion. "Please, you first."

"A _few_ friends? Look, I know you weren't the most popular person there, but what did you _do_?" Jeb held the door for him, and when it looked as though ter Borcht were about to answer, added, "No, don't answer that. We can talk later."

"You know, I don't mean to make an ass of myself, but I'm afraid my cash reserves are rather low," ter Borcht said stiffly as they stood just inside the cafeteria. "Would you mind?"

"Buying you dinner? Dude, you bought me my first legal beer. Of course I'll pay for your dinner."

"I had to hold your hair back while you vomited in the gutter," ter Borcht returned. "I think that's more than worth dinner."

"I forgot about that," Jeb said. "I think it's pizza night. You want pizza?"

"Deflect all you want. Your American drinking laws are risible," he sniffed.

"Risible? Really? There is no reason to flaunt your 'superior education' anymore, you went to college _twenty years ago,_ I don't care if it was Oxford." For a moment it was 1994 again, the two of them verbally sparring while waiting for coffee.

"Yes, yes, that's true," he said, and waved one hand dismissively. "If this is how we're to converse, then yes, pizza is fine."

"And I know you don't care about toppings," Jeb muttered. "God knows you stole my pizza enough times no matter what I got on it."

"Food is food." Ter Borcht shrugged. "And it's hard to get a good pizza in Europe."

"OK. Pizza then. They should have Pepsi, you want a Pepsi?"

"Just water, thank you."

"Fine. Go find a place to sit. Oh, by the way. I put some money on your tab here, courtesy of the American military and Itex. Should be effective by tomorrow morning, thank me later."

"I doubt the government will appreciate paying for my meals," ter Borcht commented. "I think they could have me arrested if I weren't so useful to them."

"That's great. I'll come find you." And Jeb walked away to get in line. He was never any good at ending conversations like a proper adult.

Ter Borcht scanned the room for empty tables. Jeb was reminded, fleetingly, of high school whenever he entered the cafeteria. Ter Borcht, product of the German educational system, was reminded only of the hospitals where he had worked. All their cafeterias had been the same, and nearly two decades later, he was amused by the similarity that still held.

Someone tapped his shoulder, and he turned, uncertain what to expect. Other than Jeb, he knew no one here, which was one of the reasons he had chosen the School for his bolt-hole in the first place.

_You should still be in high school,_ he thought when he saw the young woman standing there, and immediately followed that with _Christ, I'm getting old._

"I don't mean to be intrusive," she said, "but are you Roland ter Borcht?"

He looked at her for a moment, trying to place her by appearance. Her hair was in a short afro, her eyes green and intelligent behind her glasses. She reminded him of an old colleague, but was far too young...

"Yes, I am," he said. "I'm sorry, have we met?" He held out his hand, and they shook hands.

"No, we haven't." She smiled. "I just, uh, never thought I'd get to actually meet you in person and I wanted to say hi if it was actually you."

"None other," he said.

"I read your thesis on gene alteration with retroviruses," she said. "I mean, I know that was a long time ago, but it was just revolutionary. I was supposed to read it in college, but I skipped it then and I just picked it up a couple weeks ago. You're, um, you were kind of my inspiration for getting into science at all."

"I'm very flattered," ter Borcht said, aware of how stiff he must sound. "Your name was?"

"Sorry, I got carried away. I'm Natasha Petrova. It's very nice to meet you." She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I came over to ask if you needed somewhere to sit. No offense, but you look kind of lost."

"I've never been here before," he admitted. "And that would be very kind of you."

"All right! Right this way," she said, leading him towards a small table huddled against the wall, where a half-finished tray already sat next to an open book. "I'm eating alone tonight, so just sit wherever you want."

He was reminded of himself in college, eating alone in his rooms or with a book as companion at a restaurant, and felt an absurd note of compassion for this young woman, so much like the person he had been. He settled himself into a chair opposite her tray, and she sat down immediately.

"I couldn't help but see you came in with Jeb," she said, toying with her fork. "You know him?"

"Know him?" He smiled. "I worked with him for the better part of a decade. We've been out of touch for a while, but yes, I know him."

"Yeah, it looked like you were old friends. I just ask 'cause I work in his lab and he didn't mention anything about having a visitor. He is pretty scatterbrained, though." She shrugged, pushed a lump of mashed potatoes around on her plate.

"Please, eat. And my... transfer here was rather sudden. I'm not surprised he didn't tell you," he said, turning to check on Jeb's progress through the line. Still shuffling by the salad bar. What on Earth did he want a salad for? He turned back to Petrova. "So you work with him?"

She nodded, swallowed a mouthful of mystery meat. "Every day. I about died when I got the assignment, let me tell you. We learned about both you guys in the same breath in college. People put you on the same kind of pedestal as Watson and Crick, I swear."

_Flattering._ "I do try not to steal research," he said. "But about Jeb: tell me how he runs his lab."

"I would _love_ to," said Petrova.

* * *

note: I said I would _try_ for weekly updates, ha ha. I've had to drop a class, which has lightened my workload, but I'm still waiting on an appointment this Thursday before I even know where treatment for my leg will start. Fun times.

Also, yes, there's gonna be slash in this. Just not yet.


End file.
